Wolf Captured (8 page)
Derian nodded, but he was only half listening. He looked side to side, then up to where a small flock of seagulls quarreled around the tallest of the tree trunks.
“Any of … your people there?” he asked softly.
“Blind Seer say no,” Firekeeper replied. “Maybe one will come. We know they look at boats.”
“Ships,” Derian correct automatically. “When a boat is this big and goes on the ocean it’s called a ship.”
Firekeeper opened her mouth to reply, but then she caught motion from where Blind Seer had been resting on the deck. The wolf had risen to his feet, and now stood very still and suddenly intent.
Firekeeper swung in the direction from which the wind was coming, and Derian followed her motion. He gasped as a man he had hoped never to encounter again emerged from one of the hatchways.
The newcomer was a big man, both in height and breadth, though less fleshy than when last Derian had seen him. His light brown hair was covered with a billed cap, but beneath this cover Derian recalled his hair was thinning. The man’s skin was weathered and his walk held a sailor’s roll.
“Wain Endbrook!” Firekeeper said, tugging on Derian’s sleeve.
Derian nodded, swallowing a gasp of surprise.
“I guess it’s true that rotten things always float to the top,” he said softly.
Firekeeper sniffed indignantly, “He seem to do well since his queen chase him from his pack.”
At first glance, Derian would have agreed, but now he noted how Waln’s skin showed signs of having been out in the weather fairly recently. Waln walked with a slight limp, and the jowls beneath his neck hung loose, as if he had lost a great deal of weight through something other than healthy exercise.
“I think,” Derian said, still keeping his voice low, “that he took time to rise.”
“Him here,” Firekeeper said, “tell a lot.”
Derian nodded. Waln Endbrook’s presence did explain a great deal. How the kidnappers had known how to prepare for them, perhaps even how to capture them in the first place. They had been enemies, and enemies learn a great deal about each other.
Derian strove to remember what they knew about Waln Endbrook. Waln was from the Isles, the group of five larger and many smaller islands east of both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay. Until the settlement at the end of King Allister’s War, the Isles had belonged to Bright Bay, but Bright Bay had granted them to the woman once known as Queen Gustin IV of Bright Bay, now called Queen Valora of the Isles.
Valora had accepted her demotion only because she had been given no choice, for her self-serving policies had turned the majority of her own subjects against her. The people of Bright Bay had welcomed Duke Allister Seagleam as king in her place, and Valora had gone to the Isles. There she had courted the wealthiest and most powerful of the local residents. Among these had been Waln Endbrook, whom she had made her diplomatic liaison.
Derian had heard that Valora had not forgiven Waln when he had failed her. Instead she had exiled him, disavowing any knowledge of his claims that he had acted in her interests, seizing his fortune and assets to augment her slender treasury. What had happened to the wife and children Waln had left behind had not been said.
In all fairness to the queen, Derian had no doubt that some of Waln’s actions had exceeded his ruler’s orders, but there was no question at all that Valora had set Wain on his eventually disastrous course. Such would have been perfectly in keeping with her previous actions.
Over a year had passed since the last time Derian had seen Waln, and he wondered what course had brought the Islander from the Smuggler’s Light to the deck of this ship. One thing was certain. Whatever had brought Waln to this point had not made him love those who had thwarted him.
Now Waln crossed the deck and stood just outside of arm’s reach of the three within the cage. He smiled—a slow, greasy expression full of self-satisfaction. The satisfaction faded somewhat when his smile met only blank expressions in return.
“Surely you remember me,” Wain said. “Don’t you have a greeting for an old acquaintance?”
Derian eschewed the easy pretense that he did not remember Waln. To do so would be to flatter the man that he was improved beyond recognition. Instead he met Waln’s gaze with direct intensity.
“I remember you,” he said, “but I hardly believe the situation of that meeting merits the claim of acquaintance.”
I sound like Lady Luella
, he thought, recalling Earl Kestrel’s socially conscious wife.
Firekeeper didn’t even bother to say so much, and Blind Seer turned away and started washing under his tail.
To Derian’s satisfaction, Waln flushed a deep scarlet, his color deepening when Harjeedian didn’t bother to hide his amusement.
Waln’s discomfiture did not last. His smile became sly.
“Fine words for a rat in a trap,” he said.
“Does that make you the rat catcher?” Derian replied, his flippancy earning another smile from Harjeedian.
“That makes me the general who coordinated your capture from the very doorstep of King Tedric’s castle!” Waln retorted.
Privately, Derian had to admit that if Wain had indeed been the mastermind behind their capture, he did have reason for pride, but Derian wasn’t going to let the other man know that.
“‘General,’ is it,” Derian replied. “I suppose that’s a nice way to put the matter when in reality you didn’t dare come into Hawk Haven, or probably get too close to the Isles. ‘General’ might not be the word I’d use for a man who lets others take the risks.”
Derian knew he wouldn’t be so bold if the protection offered by the cage didn’t work both ways—and if he wasn’t fairly certain that whatever use Harjeedian had for them was not restricted to Firekeeper and Blind Seer. As it was, he saw Waln ball his fist and knew that had they stood face-to-face, the other man would have hit him.
“So,” Derian said, “how are the wife and children? Is business going well?”
Wain flushed again, and Derian knew he needed to take care.
“Business is going very well,” Waln replied, the words clipped, “and in the not too distant future I expect to find myself in a diplomatic capacity once more.”
“Lovely,” Derian replied. “I admit to being curious. What brought you to this point?”
He knew from various sources that Waln Endbrook was a bully and a braggart, and suspected that the other man would like nothing more than a chance to boast about his rise in fortune. Perhaps in telling that tale he would give some hint as to their own fate.
Waln rocked back, leaning against the nearby mast, all his self-satisfaction returning. As he did this, Derian had his first clear look at the man’s left hand. It was gloved in black, and the two smallest fingers jutted unnaturally stiff.
So he wants others to overlook his mutilation,
Derian thought,
though it is such as could be excused by many accidents that would be routine in a sailor’s trade. Interesting, if not immediately useful.
“As you may recall,” Waln began, “I was in possession of important information that caused Crown Princess Sapphire to grant my life.”
Derian suppressed a grimace. He supposed that was one way to relate the shameful circumstances surrounding Waln’s defeat.
“Upon my release, I returned to the Isles, but the queen I had so faithfully served betrayed me. She could not execute me lest my father-in-law, a powerful man in the Isles, argue that my estates must pass to my legal heirs. Instead, she named me traitor, stripped me of the titles she had given me, and sent me into exile.
“Exile included very little that would assure my comfort: passage to the port of my choice and what few goods I could carry in a pack. I was permitted to take nothing of great value. All that could not be proven to have been brought into our marriage by my wife or what had been earned because of her actions was forfeit to the queen. My wife and children went into her family’s care. I have not heard from them since.”
Derian felt a momentary flash of pity for the man until he recalled what Waln had done to earn that exile. Then pity melted from him, leaving him cold as the ocean depths. He found himself involuntarily taking a step back.
Waln was so caught up in his own tale that Derian doubted he had noticed, but Harjeedian did and his eyebrows rose in silent comment. Waln went on.
“I was barred from the ports of both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, and had no wish to try my luck in Waterland.”
Derian knew perfectly well why this would be so. Not only did Waterland share a border with New Kelvin—a nation which, at that time, harbored others whose enmity Waln had earned—but Waterland judged the worth of its residents by their fortunes. One such as Waln, coming with no fortune, might well have found himself enslaved.
“Therefore I took passage on a ship heading into southern waters. I had voyaged in these some in my younger days, and thought I might find some curiosities or at least those who, unallied with those who had wronged me, would be willing to give me honest employment.”
As far as Derian knew, nothing much was known about the lands to the south. Stonehold, the nation to the south of Bright Bay, was a land power, but their southern border was variously reported as densely forested or swampy. Dangerous shoals and fever-ridden swamps to the east kept the majority of Stoneholders on land. However, he supposed that the sailors of the Isles must have ventured south out of curiosity if nothing more. He admired their daring. Navigation out of sight of land had been among the arts the Old World rulers had kept to themselves.
“Luck seemed not to be with me in this venture either,” Waln continued. “Some days after we had navigated the Shipwreck Shoals and were trying to discover whether we had also found the end of land, a storm came out of nowhere. We were driven far off course. When the storm abated, we were left with tattered sails and less than half our crew. Happily, the winds had also taken us close enough to land that we were intercepted by a local vessel—this very vessel, in fact.
“Her name is
Fayonejunjal
. That translates as
Child of Water
,” Waln said, proudly, as if he had named the ship himself. “She originates from a land called Liglim. They are a curious people, claiming origin in an Old Country nation I had never heard of before. As with our own land, when the Plague came, their rulers left, and the remaining colonists established their own country.”
“Do they have contact with their Old Country?” Derian asked.
“No,” Waln said. “Nor do they wish it—even if they could locate them. I think there must have been a pact of some sort among the Old Country rulers to keep all the colonies in ignorance of those things that would let them challenge their masters. The consistency is otherwise impossible to explain.”
Derian agreed.
“So that storm proved to be a fortunate wind,” Derian said, prompting Waln to continue, feeling that the answer to why he, Firekeeper, and Blind Seer had been kidnapped must lie in the next part of the story.
“Fortunate for me,” Waln agreed, his smile arrogant and greasy once more, the taunting smile of a bully who knows he holds the upper hand. “However, I wonder if you will think it is so fortunate for you?”
Derian refused to be goaded, though he heard Firekeeper shifting slightly behind him and knew she was growing impatient. Waln’s accent was an Islander’s and doubtless the wolf-woman did not understand everything he had said—or worse, she understood and was growing impatient with Waln’s account, wanting to know precisely how it applied to their situation.
Waln couldn’t resist continuing to gloat.
“Yes,” he said. “My good fortune—and perhaps your own. The captain and senior officers had given their lives in keeping the ship afloat during the storm. I assumed command of the survivors.”
Of those who, like you, cowered belowdecks while others risked wind and waves
, Derian thought.
I’m sure that the few who survived the loss of their officers were too exhausted to deal with your relative strength.
“In that capacity, I worked with our rescuers. My first task, of course, was to learn something of their language, and in return grant some knowledge of our own. When we arrived at their capital city, this kept me quite busy, as did answering questions about from where we had come. In turn, I learned something about their culture.
“I gathered that the Liglimom have no king or equivalent. Instead, they are led by a small group of religious leaders. I cannot say I understand the intricacies of their belief system, but it bears some small resemblance to our societies in that various animals are held to represent certain traits. However, they have a great respect for the elements as well.”
Waln shrugged, dismissively. “Their beliefs are not important. What is important is that I soon learned that this priesthood keeps a collection of animals—a menagerie. Whether they are for worship, sacrifice, or inspiration, I could not quite understand. It seems they are chary of sharing their secrets with a foreigner.”
Derian was beginning to dread where this thread was heading, and from Firekeeper’s soft intake of breath he thought she was on a similar track.
Waln rubbed at the stiffened fingers of his gloved left hand.
“As soon as I could speak the language well enough, I told my new friends that I knew where they could find a fine representative of at least one of their sacred animals—an enormous wolf.”
Blind Seer growled, raising his head from where it had rested on his paws through much of this account. Beside him, Firekeeper—who had eschewed her usual nonchalant seat beside the wolf to stand—took a step forward.
“I told them about Lady Blysse as well,” Waln went on unctuously, “how some say she can speak to the beast. And I told them about you, Derian Counselor, the keeper of wolf and woman—the only one known to make her obey anything but her own bestial urges. The rulers of Liglim were very excited by this, but thought you might not accept their invitation for an extended visit.”
“Extended?” Derian repeated.
“As in for the rest of your life.”